My Life
by rubbishgirl
Summary: A short story Rinoa's POV. Started as a straight songfic of Dido's My Life - however it took on a life of its own and grew somewhat twisted. Read It - Like It - Review It.


Rinoa brushed away the tears from her eyes and walked over to the wardrobe removing a very battered suitcase. Bugger it; she wasn't going to stay here to be treated like this.  
  
She opened the suitcase on the bed and started take drawers from her dresser and empty them into it as unbidden tears fell from her eyes. This was the last time she was going to get involved with moody no-good gunblade specialists.  
  
She threw the empty drawer down on her bed with the others and opened the last one. On the top was a picture taken just after the defeat of Ultimecia. Her and Squall on the balcony. She took it out and threw it angrily on the floor. Bastard.  
  
She sat on her bed, shocked into melancholy by the picture. Moody no-good gunblade specialists, so fucking introspective, always trying to understand themselves and never bothering with you.  
  
She leant her chin on her hand as she wondered what to do gazing at the picture. Oh well, time to go and break someone's stupid crappy heart of stone.  
  
She picked up her suitcase and marched down to the cafeteria where he was bound to be, with all his stupid asshole friends.  
  
There he was now talking with Irvine, they thought they were sooo great, and big, and clever, god's gift to women.  
  
"Squall, can I talk with you please," she said in a tone dripping with sugar. She watched as the bastard muttered something to Irvine making him snigger and glance at her. Fucking idiots.  
  
Squall was still looking back at Irvine laughing at his own cleverness and the moment he looked back she slapped him, right across the face. "Sorry about that," reverting to her sugary sweet tone, she smiled primly. "It's just something I've been wanting to do for a long time, hope you don't mind."  
  
"Rinoa," he whispered angrily, grabbing hold of her arm and drawing her close to him so no one would hear. "What the hell did you go that for, I haven't done anything?"  
  
"Exactly" she said her sugar turning to venom. She leant in close to him. "And I'm tired and bored of waiting for you and all those things you never do."  
  
He let go of her and rolled back on his heals. She could see her venom was taking effect. His face was ashen, and suddenly he looked very tired and old. "So you're leaving?"  
  
"Yes, and you can't stop me."  
  
"Where are you going?"  
  
She smiled nastily, so the bastard did care about her, well all the better. "What I choose to do is of no concern to you," she looked over his shoulder at the group gathering around the table. Ahh, all her old favourites;  
  
Irvine, now there was a guy a girl could rely on, to cheat and cheat and cheat and cheat on her.  
  
Selphie, now Selphie she'd liked, but when she'd tried to warn her away from Irvine Selphie had reacted by saying she was just a bitch trying to get into Irvine's pants, this was a girl who needed the benefits a full frontal lobotomy could offer.  
  
Quistis, well she was a bitch just trying to get into Squall's pants, and a damm snooty one at that.  
  
Zell, well, lets just say she agreed with her previous boyfriend on this issue, a chicken-wuss if ever she knew one, come to think of it he'd talked a lot of sense about one other subject, namely Squall, but then again when it came to it Seifer was just another moody no-good gunblade specialist.  
  
She raised her voice "or your friends," and she watched in pleasure as they all looked away embarrassed.  
  
"Rinoa," he was talking in a hushed voice again trying to detract attention. "Seriously where are you going what are you going to do? Timber's independent, there's no more Forest Owls." He seemed to be getting over this very quickly; she couldn't have that.  
  
"Where I lay my hat may not be my home, but I will last on my own. I can do anything I want Squall, you're just an expendable accessory."  
  
"So you're just gonna go, just like that no reason." Oh god, he was going to try to guilt trip her out of it, pretend he hadn't seen it coming, pretend he felt bad she was going, like *that* would work.  
  
"The whole world has sat in the palm of my hand not that you'd see, no, you're to screwed up in your own screwed up world to even think about anyone else you fucking, fucking, bastard, asshole." And with that she left him. Him and his idiot friends and his idiot garden.  
  
She went to Balamb and got a train to somewhere where she could be free from moody no-good gunblade specialists.  
  
She looked across at the stranger sitting opposite her.  
  
"Hi"  
  
"Hi" he replied. He was *so* obviously interested. She wriggled slightly in her seat to make her skirt ride up a bit and crossed her legs, noting his appreciative gaze.  
  
The train stopped and they both got off.  
  
"So," he said, as she stretched, using feigning tiredness from the train ride as an excuse to stick out her chest.  
  
"Yeah," she replied in a low husky voice.  
  
"Would you like a drink?"  
  
"Sure"  
  
She picked up her suit case and he picked up his . . . oh fuck . . . god it did have did be that didn't it . . . he was another fucking moody no-good gunblade specialist.  
  
Oh well. It was her life.  
  
One more can't make all that much difference.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Inspired by MY LIFE written by D ARMSTRONG, R ARMSTRONG & M BATES.  
SQUARESOFT own everything in my story, although they won't admit it. 


End file.
